HEART ATTACK AND HIGHWAY 62

No doubt you’re dying to hear what I ate during my sojourn in California.  Truth is I ate pretty ‘low’ most of the time: I felt that was what the late Jonathan Gold might have wanted.  His presence still looms over the Los Angeles food scene, not least in this mural:

Here’s some beer and some seafood ramen that I ate at a restaurant in Little Tokyo, called Kagura.

You know, I’m increasingly not sure that I really like ramen and I certainly don’t see what all the fuss is about. The seafood was fine, and the broth was OK, though I could probably have done without the sweet corn. It was the noodles I had trouble with.  I mean they weren’t bad noodles and of course some noodles are better than others but in the end noodles are always just noodles.  The beer was fine.

At Cindy’s on Colorado Boulevard in Eagle Rock I had the shrimp and grits, largely because it contained tasso ham which I’d never had before, hadn’t even heard of it. 

Apparently Tasso ham it’s a Louisiana thing, made from the hog’s shoulder, so not actually a ham if we’re being picky.  I’m sure it added to the general flavour but it was well back in the mix.  Tasso ham looks like this:

In Yucca Valley I went to the 62 Diner and ordered the "Buddy Holly" for breakfast. 

It’s just corned beef hash and scrambled eggs, but the items on the menu are named after pop performers of the 50s and 60s.  After I’d ordered, I heard the waitress tell another customer that the Beach Boys Fish and Chips was the specialty of the house but it was too late by then.   
          The waitress also said she really liked my hair and asked if I dyed it.  I said I didn’t, which was true, and this impressed her even more, though the notion that waitresses go around thinking that I might have dyed my hair is somehow unsettling.

This is a Cali-Club in the Denny’s in 29 Palms:  

Denny’s is always ‘reliable’ without being good, and has been for decades.  What seemed to have changed, in this branch anyway, was the waiting staff.  My waiter was a 300 pound, tattooed, muscled man mountain.  Maybe they need guys like that in 29 Palms in case the marines from the nearby base get a bit fractious late at night, although this was in the morning and my waiter surely have finished his shift long before the night.

This is carne asada from Kokopelli’s in Yucca Valley.  

They used to have this very fine figure outside but it’s gone now:

The carne asada was fine though I’ve had better, tastier, moister versions, even at Kokopelli's, but I've been going there so long that it almost feels like home.

And here is a Reuben sandwich, with potato salad, which I ate on my last day in LA, at a restaurant called Teddy’s Café at the corner of Pico and Bundy.  

I went there because it was easy walking distance from the rental office where I’d just returned my car.  I wandered in, ordered, ate, and when the bill came I asked if I could pay with a card and was told it was cash only. The bill came to a very reasonable $11.75 so I dug through my wallet and pockets and came up with all the cash I had, a grand total of $12.20.  

On the one hand I’m not very worried about this because I won’t be going back there any time soon, but I did feel like a bit of a heel.  The service was worth considerably more than 45 cents, and I’d hate any waitress in Los Angeles to think the English were a stingy bunch when it comes to tipping.  I mean, in general many of them are, but I like to break the mould.

EATING WITH THE WORLD (AND ITS GRANDMA)

A few years back, a man named Noah Galutin, based in LA, ran a great blog titled manbitesworld.  He set himself the task of eating in a restaurant featuring the food of a different county, every single day, no days off allowed.  He made it to a 103, which is very impressive of course, but in LA I could believe it might have been more.  Last week for example, without really trying, I eat the cuisine of three very different countries.

Monday found me in Kagura in Little Tokyo (137 Japanese Village Plaza, Los Angeles, CA 90012). In the picture below you see tuna sashimi, yakisoba and shrimp tempura bowl, all of which seem remarkably “unexotic” these days.

What I didn't know (till I poked around), yakisoba noodles, I gather, are technically a form of chow mein, and therefore demonstrate Chinese influence.  And soba in Japanese means buckwheat, which might suggest that these are noodles made with buckwheat flour, but the Japanese just use wheat. Go figure.  Mine came with fried cabbage and onion and bean sprouts

Something I really liked about the experience: the physical menu which looked, like this:

It was big, clear, floppy thing.  You could have used it as a fan.  You could see what you were going to get (the depictions were pretty accurate) and you picked two or three dishes, and you got what you were expecting.  Why does that seem so unusual in a restaurant?

Wednesday I went to Seong Buk Dong in Koreatown (3303 W 6^th, LA, Ca 90020), and I had Galbi Jjim which generally translates as steamed beef short rib, though the Korean notion of steaming doesn’t seem to bear much resemblance to yours and mine: we’d call it braised).  I gather that Galb jjim is one of those dishes capable of infinite variation, every Korean chef having his own version, and putting in different ingredients.  I couldn’t swear what was in this one but certainly soy sauce and onion and garlic of course some very visible sesame seeds.  Other versions have been known to contain red wine, I understand, which sounds like a good idea, though it would would have made it something very different.  

An interesting thing about the experience: the restaurant is set in a mini-mall, shared with a bigger, and I gather at night much livelier, place called Dang Sun Sa – which has various images painted on it, including this one of Kim Jong-il and (I’m reasonably sure) Kim Dae-Jung coming together in the name of North-South Korean friendship.

Also in the mini-mall: Dick’s Liquor – stop sniggering there at the back.

Friday saw me at Los Balcones, (1316, Vince Street, LA, CA 90028) which used to be called Los Balcones del Peru, and it was always good, if slightly rough at the edges.  But now it has a new incarnation and things have been smoothed off and spruced up, as you see.

The menu has been zested up a bit too, and in the interests of ordering what I’ve never ordered before, I went with the “Carapulcra: pork spare rib, stewed peruvian potatoes, huacatay, chimichurri.” 

Pork spare rib, of course I’d had, but I’d definitely never had huacatay, also known as Peruvian black mint, and some kin of the marigold.  And as for Peruvian potatoes, well one thing we know is that Peruvian potatoes come in an astonishing number of varieties. 

But as I look up carapulcra I discover that these are REHYDRATED potatoes, that have previously been freeze dried.  Oh my – a version of the spud I’d never had before.  It gets better.  This, I discover, is chuño, a traditionally process, (taking 50 days according to enperublog.com, just 5 days according to Wikipedia – I know who I’m going to believe) that involves freezing potatoes in the night air of the Andes, then drying them out in the sunlight the next day.  They also get washed in a river, in a mesh cage, which in itself can take 30 days – that’s some clean potatoes, then they get frozen again.  And barefoot stomping is also involved.  I knew none of this and it made me feel I’d led a very sheltered culinary life.

And just to round out the week, on Saturday I was at Dargan’s Irish restaurant in Ventura and had “Mary Bridget's Irish Stew:  Liam’s Mother’s recipe, made with the best of lamb, carrots, celery, potatoes & onions.” 

I don’t know who Mary Bridget or Liam are, but the stew was heavy on potatoes (not freeze-dried I’m pretty sure) and it did remind me, just a little, of my somewhat Irish grandmother’s extremely untraditional Lancashire hotpot.